Catch and Release
by ninamonkey
Summary: Bruce is frustrated and angry. It takes a Black Widow and copious amounts of bad vodka to find out why. Bruce/Tony, Natasha.


If asked an hour earlier Dr. Bruce Banner would've laughed about it in someone's face. Slugging vodka shots. With Natasha Romanov. On a Tuesday afternoon. No. Not happening. Never happening.

Except that it was. And he was.

Bruce must have scrubbed his fingers through his hair five times before Natasha giggled (giggled!) and swat down his hand. The look on her face sent a small giggle to his own lips, and he wasn't even sure why, except it seemed funny.

"You're evading the question, Doctor Banner." Her accent was thicker, but Bruce's vision was swimming and it took a lot to focus so he couldn't tell if she was playing with him, or not.

"It's Bruce," he enunciated slowly. He tapped his glass in staccato bursts against the table in time with the letters. "B-r-u—"

"Got it," she said softly, and she cupped his hand so he couldn't continue. "Bruce."

"Thank you." He nodded but not too sharply, because he didn't trust his balance. Oh, he should've been utterly disgusted with himself and a large part was, but another was strangely thankful for the release. Frustration, tension and anger had played at his periphery for nearly a week, and today it nearly resulted in an Other Guy incident. It wasn't exactly his fault, not really, but…it was.

At 3pm for no reason Bruce flung a stylus across his lab, resulting in two broken beakers and one startled tech. He held up his hand, stilling the lab tech's blubbering and barely apologized before storming out and sending employees scrambling for cover. His rage had been building over the week but it wasn't his counterpart this time, oh no, this was 100% Robert "Bruce" Banner hitting the stratosphere at Mach 20. His alter shifted deep in his chest, pushing, but Bruce also felt a chuckle in-Him. _He_ was more than willing to emerge if Bruce couldn't deal, but that was the problem; He had a very easy solution to Bruce's uncommon anger. And Bruce didn't want to face the horribly embarrassing reason for it teasing his conscious mind.

The halls cleared quickly and folks literally ran from him, and of course hushed tones followed and Bruce was through, absolutely _done_, and the next person he saw would become the Other Guy's lunch and—

"Bruce! Hey, Bruce. Come in here." The friendly voice, a tinkling murmur, was so sudden and rare that it doused his rage like ice water and he found himself following that siren's laugh. He tentatively poked his head around the corner of Boardroom 8 and saw a positively demure Natasha Romanov wearing a black pencil skirt and white v-neck blouse (which did nothing for him, it really didn't, though he admitted the look suited her in this place). He had to blink: Black Widow was slumming in Stark's tower, a place that had become a chemical mixture of SHIELD, Stark, and Avengers Initiative acolytes.

He blinked again. He had thought her on assignment, with Agent Barton. Maybe she was, still. He didn't believe in coincidences.

Before he could ask or question or form the words in his brain she was already moving and separating the table for two, as if expecting him. "Sit," she told him, and she waited until he nervously found a plush chair to collapse into.

"JARVIS," she commanded. "Could we have some privacy, please? No recording and keep this room registered as 'occupied' until my say-so."

"Certainly, Ms. Romanov." The clipped tones of the AI sent a shudder through Bruce and gave a none-to-gentle reminder that he was never truly alone.

Bruce gripped his hands and nervously rubbed his knuckles. He forced neutrality in his features, though he didn't feel all that neutral. "So…_tracking_ me again. Have I become a liability, Ms. Romanov? Or does Fury have something else for me to swallow?"

"Don't be crass," she murmured, toeing off her Zanottis. She gave him one hard glare then rolled her eyes, and went over by the bar. Tony was the only businessman Bruce knew who had a full bar on every floor of his building. At least the rooms had private passkeys and were locked, per JARVIS, unless needed. "I'm only here today because I'm fulfilling an obligation to Pepper. You can check the books; she's out of town with Stark and I owed her a favor."

"Convenient cover story."

"Isn't it, just." To his surprise, she plunked a bottle of Stoli beside him, and tsked softly. A Russian curse exited her lips. "Tony's taste in vodka is abysmal."

"The good stuff is in the executive boardroom on the tenth floor," Bruce muttered. "This stuff is for 'every day' clients."

A ghostly smile settled over her lips as if she heard an answer to an unasked question. Bruce snorted and sat back in his chair, watching Natasha carefully as she brought out two shot glasses. Laughing darkly he shook his head. "I can't drink."

"Didn't say you had to," she said, breaking the seal on the bottle and pouring herself a shot, "but you shouldn't lie. You _can_ drink, Dr. Banner. You _choose_ not to. For your own personal reasons." She saluted him with her glass and downed it.

"Bruce," he corrected. The smirk on his lips was twisted and cold as he grabbed the shot glass and played with it in his fingers. "So why are you here again? If it isn't to get me drunk and have your way with me, that is."

The edge of her hip teased the table. She paused, but continued as if coming to a decision. "How honest do you want it?"

"As honest as you can make it," he mumbled. Bruce suddenly changed his mind and pulled the bottle over, and nearly overfilled his glass. He thought, recklessly, that it could technically be Natasha's fault if he Hulked out now, and he childishly tipped back the shot.

God, he was such an asshole today.

"All right." Natasha sat beside him and refilled both their glasses. "Yes, you're monitored, but you're left alone unless you spike the radar for some reason. And this week, you've been spiking it in a very strong way."

"Mm." Bruce took the refill and choked it back. He felt deserving of it. "How so?"

"Reports of short-tempered outbursts, yelling at techs for petty reasons. Throwing equipment…People have started talking, Doctor Banner, and it's reached SHIELD's ears."

"Whatever. I am calm. I'm the epitome of calm. I'm the leaning tower of fucking calm."

"Of course," Natasha said quietly. Bruce gave her a double take as she filled their glasses. Maybe she _was_ trying to seduce him. Wouldn't work, but it would be funny watching her try.

Bruce observed the shot glass with a clinical eye, promising himself it would be the last. The depressive nature in the alcohol didn't settle his anger, but it _did_ minimize the chances of the Other Guy appearing and Natasha had been smart enough to know that. She knew what she was doing so he could begrudge her a few drinks, at least. Then he would return to the lab, make a few more apologies, clean up, and try to get lost in his data so he wouldn't think. Wouldn't consider…_dammit_.

"So," Natasha said after a sigh. Bruce had taken his shot and was expecting her to tell him to open up to her when he needed it. How she enjoyed their little talks. That he should do more yoga, or whatever. Instead—

"How long have you been in love with Tony Stark?"

Bruce got up and grabbed a bigger glass.

Releases didn't come easily to Bruce but some people took the risk, and let him exhale. Some had the ability to coax that from him, and pull his guard down. Some recognized the timing of when his guard needed breaking, but fewer knew exactly how to smash it.

Bruce blinked owlishly at one of those select few then tilted his head back, over the rim of his chair. The ceiling tiles mimicked crumbly bits of graham cracker crusts and he had no idea why that analogy made a lick of sense or why it even came to his mind.

He made a vague swirly motion with his hands. "Uhh…what was the question, again? Square root of pi or somethin'?"

"Let me backtrack to your last question," Natasha murmured. Her voice almost sounded clearer. Or maybe that was a tunneling effect. He briefly shut his eyes, and listened.

"You asked me if I loved Clint."

"Ah," Bruce said, and he pointed at the ceiling as if a scientific breakthrough came to light. "Love! That's right. Love."

"And I told you, I said love—"

" '—is for children,'" Bruce finished, and he slowly brought up his head. A crooked grin rested on his lips as he tried bringing back his bearings, and he slapped the table in triumph. "A-ha! Of course it is. Love. Is for _children_, goddamn it. Makes so. Much. Goddamn sense."

"It's also complicated. For us."

He tapped on his glass as Natasha's eyebrow warned against it. "Hey. You gonna argue with a giant grange monster?"

Natasha smirked. "What?"

Bruce pursed his lips and tried again. He leaned forward on the table with his elbows as she filled his glass. "Green. Rage. Monster. Sorry. I'm a little drunk."

She hummed as he drank. "I should probably cut you off."

"Probably." He stared at the table and answered with a drunk man's clarity. "You asked me…I heard you. You asked me about Tony."

"Yes."

"How I felt."

"Yes."

Bruce sighed deeply and ran a finger through the condensation circlets on the tabletop. "Also. Complicated."

Natasha gestured to him to continue. "Go on."

He puffed out his cheeks and sighed in an exaggerated way. "I didn't mean to. It just happened. Usually it doesn't happen so I didn't expect it. All snuck up on me, goddamn it. I don't…I don't connect like that. Not normally. I don't think I'm normal. "

"There's nothing wrong with being a homosexual Bruce. Or bisexual."

He held up a finger as if making a distinct point, and tried choosing his words carefully. He ended up pointing to the air as if conducting a small symphony. "Not quite. Different orientation. Not quite asexual, not…quite."

"Demisexual." Her voice was remarkably clear, without traces of intoxication at all. Bruce marveled at that idea. Damn, spies were tricky, tricky, tricksters.

Bruce rolled back in the chair with a shrug. "Yeah, maybe. Who cares? Never gave labels to anything, really don't care 'bout labels. You are who you are, y'know? Just easier to get my work done an' not care about the rest." He articulated to the air. "It's just what is, and I'm fine with that."

"Until Tony."

Bruce glared at her and reached for the bottle, but Natasha wisely screwed the top back on and returned the Stoli to the bar. Not that there was much left. Bruce uttered a dissatisfied grunt as she rolled him to his feet. She let him stagger against her body for leverage and lead him to the other side of the wall, where a small room with couch and comforts allowed for additional privacy.

"You should tell him." She gently guided Bruce to the couch and he immediately stretched across it.

"Yeah. Right. _Pepper_. Remember Pepper?" Bruce snorted a half-laugh as Natasha rummaged in one of the cabinets. The parted shades gave a great view of rush hour traffic, but Natasha shut the blinds before he could get a good enough look.

She crouched down and placed a pillow under his head, and laid a blanket at his feet. Then she tilted his chin so he could focus – really focus – on what she would say. "Talk to Tony," she murmured, and then she pulled his glasses from his eyes and placed them on a side table. "You might be surprised."

"I'm sure," Bruce slurred sarcastically. He didn't hold much faith to that conversation, but whatever. Thankfully he was already out cold before hearing Natasha's response.

Bruce groaned as someone – loudly – began whistling and pulling back the blinds. The sun hit him hard and exasperated his aching head but fortunately he was used to the feeling; returning to himself after a Hulk experience was nearly identical to a bad hangover. Sans the guilt of death and property damage, anyway.

He shielded his eyes and coughed. "Who does that shit…seriously?"

His torturer laughed, and opened a mini fridge. A bottle of water flew towards Bruce's leg. He blinked at it once or twice as it bounced against the blanket, then he slowly rose to take it.

"Heard you had a rough night."

Bruce sighed and quaffed half the water before seriously answering. His executioner had some mercy, though, and adjusted the blinds so Bruce could at least see, and not catch the full brunt of the sun.

Ah. Of course. Had to be him.

Tony leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, looking every bit of the consummate businessman in his Armani suit and matching Italian leather shoes. He was wearing sunglasses –Tony always wore sunglasses with his suits– but Bruce caught the concern in the corners of his eyes when the sun hit him just right.

"Word to the wise," Bruce sighed, finishing the water. He used the empty bottle as a pointer before tossing it in the trash. "Never drink with Black Widow. _Never_."

Bruce gestured to the fridge, and Tony took out two more waters. He handed one to Bruce, who nodded gratefully and immediately drank from it. "When'd you get back?"

"Last night. We were scheduled to return Friday, but the board wanted to meet for an emergency meeting."

Ouch. Bruce hoped he wasn't the reason for it, but…well. He wouldn't doubt it. Bruce groaned back in his throat and let his head flop over the top of the couch. He wanted to go back to sleeping off his hangover but Tony wasn't exactly known for his patience and wasn't keen on any remaining evasive maneuvers. The other man straightened suddenly and yanked a chair from the room, and straddled it backwards, staring at Bruce until Bruce finally lifted his head and made eye contact.

"Okay. I could say we pulled some parallel universe, Freaky Friday shit, except I know I'm me and you're you. C'mon, Banner, talk to me. What's going on in that ruffled green head of yours?"

"When's your board meeting?"

"It can wait. Quit stalling."

Bruce sighed and stared at the water bottle. "You already spoke to Natasha?"

"A little. She told me she calmed you down, but in her subtle way explained it was partly my fault."

"Heh. She would." Bruce shook his head. He was in no mood for this, and he smelled like a rancid pub. And he wanted time for this, dammit. He didn't want to be rushed, while Tony had a meeting, and he wanted time to sort out his feelings—

"I think I might be in love with you."

Ohhh. Shit, no, no…shit. That's…dammit, he hadn't wanted to say it out loud. His eyes remained glued to the water bottle as he nervously tore at the paper label. "No. Wait. Uh, that came out wrong…"

"Did it?"

Tony's voice was quiet, not mocking. Suspiciously gentle and…encouraging. Bruce hazarded a glance at him and was surprised to see a softer smirk on the man's lips. Bruce swallowed once and nodded, but didn't brave looking up again. He tore off a few more paper flecks to keep steady. "Um. No. It's not wrong. But. Ah. Makes things complicated, doesn't it."

Bruce moistened his lips when Tony's hand briefly covered his agitated fingers.

"Not…exactly," Tony answered. Bruce's eyebrow climbed his scalp and he ventured another glance. Tony smiled sheepishly and shrugged. "Was kind of waiting anyway. Wasn't gonna rush it."

Bruce opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn't form the words. Well, he could form one, and he scrunched his face as it tumbled from his lips. "Pepper-?"

Tony looked to the side and briefly ran a hand down his beard. "Good friends, very good friends. With occasional benefits. But…" he shrugged again. "We took some time to talk about it. We tried, but we agreed. We know it's not going any further."

"The trip you two just took was about that, wasn't it?"

He nodded before carefully scrutinizing Bruce's features. "It would've happened anyway, Bruce. Whether you had feelings for me or not, or whether I…"

"Had…feelings for me," Bruce finished.

Tony paused a beat then slowly nodded. "We should talk."

"After your board meeting."

"And after you shower. You reek, man."

"No worse than you after you spend a day in your garage."

Tony chuckled. "Fine, you win." His smile faded, somewhat. "I'm serious."

"I know," Bruce murmured, and his expression became somewhat apologetic. " I'll be around, Tony. Just…go to your meeting. We can do lunch, or something."

A wicked smile curled Tony's lips. "Or something."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Ass. Just go, already."

Tony held up his hands and got out of the chair. "Going, going." He paused and stared at Bruce a moment then, in typical Tony, what-the-hell fashion leaned in and kissed Bruce on the lips.

"That's better," Tony said. He was smirking at the sudden surprise crossing Bruce's brow. "That expression, right there? That's mine, Banner. I made it happen."

"Uh…" Bruce cleared his throat and drank more water, but he couldn't quit the grin that kept splitting his face in two. "Ahah. Tony, go, you idiot. Like you said, later."

Tony winked at him and spun on his heel and left the conference room, light on his feet and flying as if nothing could touch him.

_And that's mine_, Bruce thought, watching Tony leave. _That spin. That determined_ joy. _That's_ mine.

And oh, it was so right, they needed to talk. Bruce sighed and put the pillow and blanket back, and winced as his back popped. They needed to talk about what this meant, their boundaries and expectations and all that shit. But…

Bruce smiled then laughed. A full-on laugh that he hadn't expressed in years. He was insane. Insane, and insanely in love.

Why not take the chance on this one thing, and release it. Allow it.

Bruce ran his fingers through his hair and whistled as he left the room.

Why not, indeed.


End file.
